Snow and Ashes
by Todd186
Summary: President Snow's life before the events of the seventy-fourth hunger games are a mystery. Up until now. Found in the President's mansion, the world will finally be able to read his memoir. A memoir about the cruelest man to live. Please read and review.


Snow and Ashes

1

Soot

_My name is Coriolanus Snow. I am ninety-five-years-old. I am the former President of Panem. I helped create the Hunger Games. I am a murderer. The Mockingjay stands before me. I have won the war._

As I stand, hands bound and neck attached to the wooden post behind me, I revel in my victory. Yes, I am awaiting my execution, but at the look on the girl's face, I can tell I have successfully broken her.

The crowd's roar dies down as the Mockingjay pulls back my death arrow against her bow. The pin of over her heart reminds me of how big a mistake those Jabberjays were.

I remember observing the first prototype of the extinct bird. It's newborn, energetic wings flapping through the air. I was allowed one command. I spoke into the microphone and the Jabberjay's wings stopped as it listened, focused on my voice.

"The Districts will fall as the Capital rises." I said clearly into the device.

The bird spoke a distorted version of my sentence. Even then, I thought of what a great tool this bird would be in the Capital's fight against the rebels. I was so naïve.

The Mockingjay aims the arrow over my heart and in the shimmering tip, I can see my entire life.

Born Coriolanus Snow, I grew up in a family where if someone refused to do as you asked, they were punished. Even as a child, I would beat the children in my class who would disobey me. I, myself was a victim of abuse at home.

I was, what you could call some sort of rebel and because of it, I received bruises and burn marks. I would slither away into my quarters of the apartment and stay there, posed to attack if anyone disturbed me. On many occasions, I would sit in my room with the lights off, coiled back and ready to spring my attack.

I grew up in a stinking city where everyone thought themselves better than the outlying "Districts". I wasn't interested in the country we lived in until I was sixteen.

There was a commotion outside our door and we gathered in it's frame. A crowd had gathered outside and inside, our television lit up with the face of reporter, Nox Glenn. She was holding the microphone tight and looking around frantically.

I could hear her voice outside in the City Circle, on the T.V., and being projected through megaphones all over the city. Her words echoed in my ears clearly, "The rebels from District Thirteen have killed the President!"

At that moment, the Dark Days began.

I watched for months as the rebels did anything they could to destroy my city, my home. I waited for someone to do something, anything to stop them from destabilizing our society. I couldn't imagine what motive they had to rebel. It seemed like District 2 was not very bad off. How horrible could it be?

After a year, I was the legal age of seventeen and I announced my campaign for Presidency. Someone had to do something and I was certain that person was me.

However, when I admitted it to my family, I was shot down.

"Coriolanus, you can't possibly think you can become President!" my mother cried in her shrill voice.

"What qualifications do you have to even campaign?" my father's clam voice silenced my mother's.

"I've watched the rebels attempt to destroy everything we know." I began," I thought about it and-"

"Thinking doesn't make a President! Action does!" my father's calm exterior shattered for no apparent reason to reveal extreme anger. It wasn't uncommon for him to burst in random fits of rage.

I didn't bother trying to finish my sentence. Instead I pretended to accept defeat and give up my plan. However, I didn't give up. It would take years for me to give up on anything.

After the evening's meal, I slithered back into my room and did exactly what my father said didn't make a President. I thought about how I would gain access into Presidency.

That night, my father's words echoed to me in my thoughts, "_Thinking doesn't make a President! Action does!_" he was right of course. But what action could I take?

I couldn't fight against the rebels physically. My thin frame would be crushed under their brute strength. Perhaps I could outwit them but how would I do that without people who would help me turn plans into actions?

That was my first task: gain followers. But to do that, I would need to be very convincing. And to do that, I couldn't have my parents watching over my shoulder and shouting words of discouragement. I needed to be focused on my goal and have the support of everyone who believed in me or to have no support at all. Not discouragement and negativity.

The answer was clear. My mother and father had to go. With my goal in mind, I fell easily to sleep.

I woke to the sound of people screaming outside in the Circle. There were no explosions, only screams and sounds of limp bodies falling to the ground, dead. I could also hear the crashing and clanging of different objects being knocked over and broken.

I sprang up from my bed and threw on a white robe. There was no one in the living area and no one by the windows. I peered through a small opening between the door and the wall of my parent's room and saw them sleeping as soundly as if nothing at all was happening.

I crossed the room and pulled the silk curtain concealing the window aside. The scene I saw outside the window was horrific. Capi9tal citizens were running around in circles, falling over each other, setting one another on fire. I witnessed the skin on people's faces burn away and see the flesh turn into ash.

Just in front of my home's door, a flaming body fell, fire still eating away at the corpse. I knew that soon the flames would catch onto my door, made from the finest wood, and eventually totally consume the building.

I stepped outside and threw my robe over the body, suffocating the flames. Once outside, I saw a building not far from my own become enveloped in fire.

I imagined the fire jumping from wall to wall and came to the conclusion that no matter what, my home would burn. I ran inside and gathered clothes and items to bring with me when I left. I caught a glimpse of my parent's, still asleep in their bed… their death bed.

I made a quick decision of whether or not to leave them for the flames or bring them to safety.

My legs carried out me the door as fast as they could and I dashed down the street where people were gathering to watch the tragedy.

The crowd was made up of people who had enough sense to leave their burning homes and get to safety and the people from other parts of the Capital who were passing by as the circle lit up with flames.

It's truly something to see your only home burn down to the ground. I guessed that about thirty minutes after I left the building, my parents would be waking up to extreme heat and no son.

I managed to see the time on the last remaining screen in the City Circle before the flames dashed across the picture and reduced it to little more than ash.

When the fire died down, the chill of the night made it's way to my bare arms, legs, and feet. The morning sky above was hidden by clouds raining down snow. That day, the ground was covered with snow and ashes.


End file.
